in other news

rain pitter patters on the window if i look hard enough i can see tiny cat nose triangles and pomegranate shaped paw prints and another angel died

the high school music class saxophone huffs through into my room and the virtual eight grade students cheap ass marijuana wafts in too while another angel dies

the mayor explains how critical the strain is on the county and how we hold hands and fight from our couch as another angel died

the smell of my books and the pills that i took colors of my mind are tired and somber angels dying left and right

ventilators generators procreators thieves and hope beauty mud Your Kingdom come and another angel died

and if i make it past this trip i’ll still click on channel blank brains and angels will still die

bench to Nod

rest slips from
me not today she
said there is still work to be
done internally dive deep and see
sweet surrender colored weak continues to elude you the piece of eternity sliced for you is not yet served

mbrazfield (c) 2020

becoming undone

mbrazfield (c) 2020

it’s brewing
continuity
questions are stewing angry
we wait part doers motion suspend
muted red March April May rebirth unto death pull us forward bit insane masking new life restless buried ashen run to hide

dreams of Patmos

it starts like any other dream i’ve had since around age 11 with the Black Clergy and the Orthodox Cross of course Ivan the Terrible riding on a school bus horse in the diary for today there is written about John the Revelator who in my opinion had the dream to end all others forever more my phone screamed the LA County Emergency System warning safer at home lock down starts and the tranquil panic ensues can’t sleep the rapist may come blowing trumpets can’t eat boogey men come with sanitizer to wipe out my individuality can’t complain i’m doing great in contrast to so many of my brothers can’t stop thinking is this war Patmos makes me hungry in the soul talking to churches down the hall but we can’t help we are human no i say no no no sweaty panicked girl remember Big Bird and the age of innocence in limbo as the only romantic countries rage with the the horsemen double plus cut on the loose around the neck of Hemingway’s beloved

if i lived on Mars

mbrazfield (c) 2020

overdue

God i’m not one who talks to You very much only You know why but right now with the sky dark my dog snoring the kids yelling next door Mumbai on the fevered lockdown Syria weeping on her feet and fear infecting logic on the tube i feel compelled to thank you for my blessed life for affording me the gift of bitch and cry designer colas and multiplexities of the mind coffins lined up on my screen die ye wicked crowned virus fiend God i know You know what i mean i thank you for my life for my pains strife and what i’ve left behind thank you for my job my smile my friends my cries those three times You knew why i was spared but now i know i really need for You to see that my feeble squeaks in some way will move You and take my bended knee to mean that in the witness of these stars and weeds that my human tribe be relieved from all the things that ail us

reading Oscar Zeta at the park

sand sifts time valleys blue sound boom traveled since a day before creation the key to who i am at the heat level gamma ray infra black sultana of defiance pigs are rarely ever pink but they always seems to think and they do fly in their communal memory did me know that opposites detract on the sidewalk chalk does not point to the killers as they always wrote in plumes

iodine dream catcher

we call it infection thus fever comes hot cold sweat in dream floating away on a cotton boat needles shiny at the end of the bridge approaching me ghosts left over from a mardi gras circa 1874 i only met in pictures shiny orbs rubber balls as the rotten peaches fall into the bell jar tar the road but let me in i want to feel the burning in my vein traverse the universe i don’t think i’m made of clay but i’ll let you think i believe

…now sleep in it

in my age

i just learned

how good it

feels to wake

up in my

bed so warm

and soft and

inviting some say

it would feel

like the hug

of a mother

but in my

age this is

all i have

created by my

own unsure hand

early bird special

when i die i’m curious how my skull will look will i have all of my teeth my grave robbers won’t find gold will my nose holes be like a heart i wonder when i steam Botan i like to eat it hot with rice vinegar and a little toasted sesame seed oil how do you take yours love my toe nails well yeah they are a little chipped i guess i’ll get around to them soon this week lazy really no not true i just don’t think my toes are that important do you like my drawings i like the term avant gard between you and me that means i don’t have a rats ass worth of talent but if i pretend it’s a Polaroid of my soul with a few foreign words painted on the rich matron will buy it they love missed spelled words too makes them complete knowing they saved a wretch like me my hair yeah what’s wrong with it oh a nest really i ran my fingers through it when i washed it in the morning but do you think that they will put 10 pounds of mustard seeds in my skull or will the vandals toss it round my chop sticks feel crooked i better stop putting them in the dishwasher i suppose my tits yeah didn’t you hear about Newton’s law of gravity dude what is this by the way how’s your prostate been i’m a lady so i won’t speak of the southern-most half of your equator